The young woman fell to the floor and began weeping uncontrollably. Sam glanced at Nydia and shook his head, silently projecting: "I told you so."
Her reply was a shrug. She said, "Linda, move your things into my room; stay close to us. We'll make it out of this … mess."
Linda stayed on her knees, on the floor, for several moments, alternately weeping and praying. Finally, she rose to her feet, wiped her eyes, and apologized for her behavior.
"It's understandable, Nydia said, warming more and more toward her. "It's gotten next to both of us, several times. Go on," she gave her a gentle push, "get your things and come right back."
After she had left, Sam said, "But she could still be one of them. Roma told me the Holy Water only affects a witch, warlock, or the undead."
"What a performance." The burning words seared into the girl's head. "You almost had me weeping over your dilemma. But water and I don't mix very well. Such a pity it wasn't Oscar night."
"Thank vou," was her reply
"Well done." The voice cut into her brain. "Spoken without being gushy. You're learning quickly. I'll be in touch."
"Yes, Master."
And the evil force was gone from the room.
"Your mother must bear me the demon," the hot words penetrated into Black's brain. "She must be taken care of with the utmost of delicacy. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"You had better understand, young man. I will not tolerate any further backbiting from you. No more plotting against the female who birthed you. She soon will have served her purpose on earth and will be called home ... to me."
"I understand, Master. Falcon?"
"Oh, you are a schemer, aren't you? Not a drop of loyalty in you."
"Only to you, Prince."
"Bah! Only to me because you are afraid of me. You shit your pants each time we communicate. Do you really believe, young man, that you can best your mentor?"
"Sir, Falcon is not my mentor. Falcon is an idiot."
"Perhaps he is that, to a point. But he has loyalty, and that is something you do not possess."
"What can I do to prove my love for you?"
"Obey orders, for one thing." The voice had a tinge of dryness to it. "Have patience, young schemer, for you are but a child in the order of darkness. You have this life to live before anything of any significance is placed into your greedy hands."
Black was pouty. "I should have been born a true demon."
"Yes, but you weren't, and there is nothing even I can do about that. Have patience, those are my orders, and I expect to have them obeyed."
"I will obey you, Master. But now you hear me, …"
"Oh? Perhaps there is some hope for you after all. I detect—for the first time, I must add—a touch of courage in your usually whiny voice."
"I will rule this Coven, Master. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, but someday. And if Falcon gets in my way … I will kill him."
The Prince of Darkness was silent for a moment. "Very well, young man, you have made your desires known. Fine. I admire and respect courage. Perhaps there is more of Balon in your blood than even I suspected. We shall see. I will tell you this much: should Falcon fail, and should you have the opportunity and skill to destroy him … well, that would be points in your favor."
Black wanted to ask more of the Prince, but with a rush of stinking winds, the Master of the Profane was gone, and Black knew better than to push the issue. But, the man smiled, the King of Terror had not rejected his words or chastized him for them. So there was a glimmer of hope.
Ruler of the Coven. Black rather liked the sound of that.
ONE HOUR BEFORE DAWN TUESDAY
"He has spoken," Falcon said. "We will attempt to call out the forces this evening."
Roma lay on her bed. She did not feel well, for the demon within her was growing as a cancer in her womb, and she was in pain much of the time. "I wish you a great deal of luck, Falcon," she whispered. "But I must add this note of warning: watch Black, for his plottings now include you. The Master has warned him that I must be protected, but you have no such assurances from the Prince. Be careful."
"Then Black is a fool. He underestimates me, Roma."
"Grossly."
"I may be forced to kill him, or have him killed."
"He should have died at birth," the mother said, turned her head away, and bit her lips as waves of pain struck her, cramping her.
Falcon watched her twist on the sheets. "Is there nothing I can do?"
"Only tell me that Nydia is in the same agony."
"I am afraid she is not."
"That does not mean she is undergoing a normal gestation period. The sperm may be in combat within her. It could be days, even weeks—before the matter is decided. It is entirely possible it will not be decided until the moment of birth, or even weeks afterward. It depends upon who is present; if one of our kind is there, and has the power from the Prince, it could even take months … years. I know of such cases. In any event, I will not know the outcome for some time."
"Why, Roma?"
"Because I will be gone."
"Roma?" He walked to the bed of Devil-induced pain, "What of the demon?"
"If it is a true demon—and believe me, I know that it is—it will need very little assistance after birthing. Only a week or so of suckling. Then the metamorphosis is so rapid it is not only unbelievable, it is also utterly terrifying in its majesty."
"If …" Falcon struggled for words.
"Go, Falcon, you have much to do and I do not wish you to witness my suffering. Go."
He moved away from the bed, walking to the door. He paused. "I will tell you how things went this night, Roma.
She laughed, and her laughter chilled him. "If you live through it, darling. Many of those called will be rabid from the pits."
TUESDAY MORNING
They had slept unusually late. Sam awakened the young ladies roughly, no gentleness to his touch. He spoke the same message to each young woman: "Get up. Get dressed. Boots, jeans, heavy shirt. Keep a jacket close by. It's only a matter of hours before we have to run for our lives."
"What's happened, Sam?" Nydia asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"I … think we're about to witness the most awesome event to ever occur on the face of this earth.'' He smiled. "Other than that fellow who was born in Bethlehem, that is." He sobered again. "Remember what the voice told us: the calling out of the forces of darkness? It's going to happen tonight."
"He came to you? He told you?"
"No. I just know." Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Nydia—maybe he did come to me in my sleep. I have no recall of any conversation between us. I just woke up and knew it was going to happen."
"I am scared half out of my mind," Linda said.
"That makes it a club of three," Sam replied.
In the lush timber behind the great house, a shadowy figure drifted in and out of the tall trees. While movements seemed vague and uncertain, the tall warrior was actually deep in thought, his musings troubled and sometimes dark with fury. Of all things that held sway outside of the firmament, the warrior hated Satan with a passion that borderlined on disobedience to the teachings of God the Father. Indeed, the warrior had come close to admonition from Him on more than one occasion for his passionate hatred of Satan. The warrior had pleaded with Him for millennia to destroy the Beast once and for all. Have done with the Filthy One. End it. Call His people home.
But the Master of All Things would merely shake His head and say, "Not yet."
And the warrior knew that "not yet" would apply to this blinking in the span of all things, as well. He was not afraid of the od forces; he knew no fear of the demons and the other grotesque creatures that would soon be called to appear. He had destroyed their kind many times in the past, and would this time. No … what troubled the old warrior was the mystery in the great house of the Evil One, and should he alert the young Christian offspring of Balon to that mystery?